by Edward Lee
“Forget it,” Jesus repeated. The Son of God finished his Yoo Hoo and pitched the bottle into the woods. “She was wearing her seatbelt, you weren’t. Comprende?”
“Huh?”
“Still don’t savvy. That’s how it usually works.” Jesus frustratedly pushed his long hair back. “You had a heart attack. You wrecked the car. You died.”
Alexander’s expression went agape. “I—”
“You’re dead, man—you bought the farm. But, shit, what did you expect? All that booze, all those cigarettes for all those years. Still don’t believe Me? Take a peek.”
In slow dread, the priest gazed back into the car, this time looking past Charity. And there, in the driver’s seat, he saw…himself.
Neck broken. A little blood on his forehead. But— Jesus isn’t jiving me. That’s my body in there. I’m dead.
Yes. Here he was, Father Thomas Alexander, standing in the middle of Route 23 just as the blushing sun rose, and he was looking at his own dead body.
Jesus was taking the pack of cigarettes off Alexander’s body. “Too bad about her, though, huh?” He said.
Alexander flinched. “What do You mean? You just got done telling me she’s not hurt.”
“Oh, she’s not hurt, but she’s sure as shit pregnant.”
“That’s impossible!” the priest countered Jesus. “That thing last night couldn’t possibly have raped her. It would’ve torn her up; its genitals were huge.”
“The Bighead,” Jesus explained, lighting up a Lucky, “was Charity’s brother. You didn’t know that, did you?”
“Her…brother?”
“That’s right, chief, and, yeah, he had a giant dick, just like his daddy. But you know what she had? A big pussy.”
Somehow, hearing Jesus Christ make such colloquial references to sexual anatomy rubbed him the wrong way. But— What’s He talking about?
“Come here,” his Lord beckoned with a finger. He opened the passenger door, parted Charity’s legs, and pulled up her skirt. She was pantiless beneath. Jesus pointed. “See? You ever seen a pussy that big in your life?”
Alexander stared from the street. Christ was right; Charity vaginal inlet was immense…
“She was the only woman on earth who could take all of The Bighead’s cock. Stands to reason. Being brother and sister, they both have the same reproductive genes.”
Alexander continued to stare.
“Devil’s genes. So,” Jesus rubbed his hands together. “Chalk up another one for us.”
“What do You…” The priest’s words shimmied. “What do You mean?”
But by then he thought he already knew.
Jesus grinned, cigarette in mouth. “Took you awhile to figure it out, huh? I’m surprised.”
Alexander’s voice raddled. “You motherfucker,” he said to Jesus Christ the Righteous. “You lying piece of shit…”
“Hey, look, it’s just my job. I do my job, you do yours. Thing is, I do mine better.” And with that, the masquerade began to corrode, the great pointed horns already beginning to surface from the imposture’s forehead. “Come on, man. Jesus doesn’t walk around the earth. He lost that gig two thousand years ago. But me? Shit, I can do anything I fucking want. Blame Eve.”
The Morning Star, came the thought like a hinge keening in his head. Lucifer— The priest began, “Get thee behind me—”
The horned figure frowned. “Aw, give it a rest, man. Homey don’t play that tune. Ya fucked up, Tom.”
“I do not deserve to go to hell!” Alexander bellowed.
“There you go, right there. The first thing you think of is yourself. You blew it. Not enough brownie points. Shit, man. Lust, greed, avarice, profanity, indulgence—God don’t want ya, Tom, and I can’t say that I blame him. But that’s fine. Another tenant for my boarding house.”
“FUCK YOU!”
The Devil smiled, flicked a forked tongue. “Time for you to go, Tom. And they’re all waiting to see you: all those slopes you killed in The Nam, the old lady, Dicky, Tritt Balls Conner, not to mention Jerrica, your squeeze. Give ’em all my regards.”
The road jolted, then split wide open. Flames wafted from the rent as Alexander teetered on the edge.
“But I arranged a very special escort for you, buddy,” Satan added. “They’ll be giving you the twenty-five-cent tour personally.”
Screaming, Alexander was dragged down into the pit, feverish hands pulling at his ankles.
“Oh, and Tom?” the Devil finished, grinning down. “Thanks for the Lucky’s.”
Down, down. The split hardtop of Route 23 resealed like a wound healing. The priest squirmed, his blood already boiling as his slacks, shirt, and collar were expeditiously torn off. Svelt, taloned hands nimbly pawwed his buttocks and crotch, kneading, then molesting in feverish glee.
The nuns rejoiced, cackling over their claim.
««—»»
Charity regained consciousness several moments later.
The priest was dead.
She unfastened her seatbelt and got out, looked up at the blooming, pink sky, breathed deep.
She felt so confused, but it was only now that she realized what she must do…
It was providence. She could never return to the world; she wasn’t meant to. Like a snake shedding skin, it was time to slough off her old life and walk happily into the face of her new one.
She was pregnant now, and happy. And she knew what she must do. In all actuality, there’d never been a choice.
COME, COME, her father’s Voice had told her so many times. But now it was saying something else…
GO. GO.
And go she would. She would be a sprite in the woods. She would be the joyous wildwoman, dressed in skins and living on berries and roots. She would give birth to her twins and raise them in the wild…
To start a new race.
Yes! Providence!
GO.
Charity dropped her sundress in the middle of the road. The morning light painted her flesh in a new beauty. Her heart sang. And even now, she could feel the precious korms of seed and eggs stirring in her womb.
GO, MY LOVELY DAUGHTER.
Charity walked off the road, stepped gently over some brambles, and disappeared into the woods without a sound.